Edge
The edge is something you can’t see across
Burnt-out refineries on the rim of a winter city
Trainyards, coal piles, empty pre-fab warehouses
No people but a clutter of abandonment
Against a straight blank sky
Fixed now, pointed toward abstraction, the scene waits
You stare at what you’ve made and keep seeing more
White space mirrors a mind of ice
Snow only suggests the distances and threats
